


darkness and light

by Rhiannon87



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grogu | Baby Yoda Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Grogu | Baby Yoda, References to Star Wars: Prequel Trilogy, References to Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: "He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Many Masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars, when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the Temple. Then his memory becomes... dark."Content Warnings: vague reference to child death (the Jedi Purge) and child abuse (Grogu's implied history).
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 21
Kudos: 181





	darkness and light

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting fic in two years and I went for probably one of the hardest POVs in this dang show. Hope I did this fifty-year-old toddler justice.

His earliest memories are of being carried.

Grogu is so much smaller than the other children in the creche, who are loud and bright and fast. They are kind to him, though, lifting him to reach things and carrying him when he can’t keep up. The Masters carry him too, bringing him to his lessons all throughout the Temple. There is one Master who is like him, though even Master Yoda is large in comparison. They will sit together sometimes and think of home, images of a distant, humid planet teeming with life drifting between them. It is comforting to have someone who understands, and it makes this new place feel like home, too.

The other children move on, and new children come to take their place, while he remains. They grow faster than he does, speaking in words as the Masters do, instead of in pictures and feelings floating through the Force. He is sad sometimes when they leave, but he understands that this is the way of things. He grows at his own pace. And he learns.

But those days do not last. The Force carries pain and fear with it, building across the galaxy, and he wakes often from dreams of losing brothers he does not have. The Masters do not teach him anymore, and the new children in the creche are quiet and frightened. It is a difficult time, but the caretakers assure him and the other children that it will end soon.

They are right.

He can feel the darkness sweeping towards the temple, darkness that comes after the very brightest of lights is snuffed out. He can feel the Force breaking and bleeding as the Masters disappear one by one. The darkness comes to the creche. He is small, so very small, and he hides. He does not look. But he hears, and he senses, and he is so terribly afraid. The darkness recedes, though it does not depart, and he remains hidden. Soft footsteps approach, a warm, familiar presence wracked by grief. He can hear weeping, and he cautiously peeks out from his hiding place. One of the caretakers, a woman with kind hands and deep lines on her face, kneels amidst the children, sobbing over their small, still forms. 

She is safe. She can help.

He pads towards her; she turns and gasps, sweeps him up in her arms. “Oh, little one, you’re alive.” She cradles him against her shoulder for a moment, then rises and slips him into her bag. “You must be silent and still, Grogu,” she whispers. “You must hide.” He curls up small, as small as he can be, and pulls in the light that he shines in the Force. He has always glowed, but a light in so much darkness cannot hide. And he must hide.

There are sounds from outside the bag that frighten him. The caretaker is moving quickly, bouncing him against her side as she goes. Suddenly she gasps and breaks into a run as voices call out behind her. The bag moves suddenly, no longer hanging at her side, and he feels strange hands take it. “Get him away from here,” the caretaker begs. “Keep him safe.”

“What?” The bag flips open, and he shrinks away from the strange face peering at him. There are more noises, and his stomach lurches as the ground moves upward. A ship. He has seen them from the Temple, but he cannot remember riding in one. This must be what it is like.

The caretaker’s light, small and soft, winks out, consumed by the dark.

*

The strangers take Grogu away from the Temple, but they do not keep him safe.

He is traded away and taken on another ship, then another, then another. He is always hungry. He is sometimes cold, sometimes sick. There are others who have kind hands, at times, but they never stay. They leave him, or they give him away. He grows, but he is still small, and there are no other children to carry him here. There is no one to teach him. He learns words, learns to understand, but does not know how to shape them himself.

The Force is cold and dark now, and he does not let himself glow in it. He cannot hide from the strangers who give him away, but he can hide from the darkness that still hunts him. He can sense it out there, a presence that is not one entity but so very many, all bent towards a singular purpose. The strangers speak of an Empire, and he learns this is what the darkness is named.

This Empire will hurt him. This Empire will feed his light to the darkness. So he hides. And he lets himself forget.

*

Noise wakes him from his sleep, the familiar noise of violence. Little lights winking out in fire and red bolts and pain. Grogu can do nothing but lie in the dark and wait for the violence to end, for one of the cold, cruel men here to remember to feed him.

The noise stops. His bed opens, and two droids peer down at him. But no. That’s not right. One of them is a droid, an empty space in the Force. The other looks like he is made of metal too, but there is feeling coming from him. Surprise and shock, then confusion.

Then the droid raises its weapon, and the other is suddenly a beacon of _protect_ and _save_ and _defend_ , a complex swirl of emotion with a pure focus. They speak to each other, arguing, and the droid raises its weapon again.

The other raises his weapon as well. The droid falls. The other cocks his head to the side, and he does not feel like the caretakers or Masters. He is steel and sharp edges, hard and unyielding and strong. And yet, as he reaches out with a finger, waggling it gently over Grogu’s head, there is warmth, too, behind the steel. It has been so long, and he has been so very alone in the darkness. Perhaps the other will have kind hands.

He reaches up and grasps the finger above him, wrapping small claws around the leather. The other--the man-- lightly tugs back to test his grip, then pulls his hand free. “Okay. Time to go.”

He does something to the bed, and to his wrist, and the bed begins to follow after him. Grogu sits and watches and hopes that this time will be different. That he will not be given away again.

*

The man fights to protect him. He fights so hard, and he is badly hurt, and his attempts to heal himself make the pain worse. It has been so long since Grogu has called on the Force, since he has been a light. But the man is hurt, and he can fix it, and so it is worth it. 

The man does not understand, though, and he cannot see the images of healing and care that Grogu sends to him through the Force. The man puts him away, back into the dark, and Grogu can only lie there and feel his pain through the night.

The next time the man fights, he falls. The beast hurls him again and again, his body slamming into the mud, and each time it takes longer for him to stand. He was already hurt, and now his pain fills the Force around him with twisted, jagged shadows. And still the man protects him. Even through so much pain. Grogu sees the beast preparing to charge, feels the man accept his death, and he reaches out and grabs the beast and lifts.

The Force bursts into light around him, welcoming him home, even as he shakes from the effort. He holds on for as long as he can and hopes it will be enough to save the man who saved him.

*

And then the man gives him away. Gives him to the darkness named Empire. The man does not want to, he knows it, can sense the regret rolling off him in waves. But for all that Grogu cries out to him, the man does not stop the darkness. The door closes, and the man who was protection and warmth is gone.

It is so cold, and they hurt him, and he is so tired.

Grogu wakes to sounds of violence again, to the feeling of being carried. There is a warm arm under him and a cold metal plate beside him, both solid and strong. The man screams guilt and rage into the Force, fuel for his single-minded determination. _Protect the kid._

He came back for him. For the first time in so very, very long, someone came back for him.

They are outside, and the Force is thick with greed and anger and envy. The man does not bend before it, and when the violence begins again, he dives into safety, protecting them both. There are terrible lights and frightening sounds, but the man shields him from it all, gazing down at him with that expressionless mask, one hand tenderly stroking the top of Grogu’s head. And for all the chaos around them, the man’s thoughts are oddly still.

He believes he will die here, and he only regrets that he could not keep Grogu safe.

There’s a sudden flurry of new lights and sounds, roaring in his ears, and the man suddenly lunges upright, surging with shock and hope. There are others like him here, faceless masks and hearts of steel, and their purpose is the same. Protect their brother, who will protect him.

“This is the Way,” the man says, and runs.

*

The man carries him onto the ship, back into the room with the chairs and the lights and the shining silver ball. Grogu is used to the feeling of a ship lifting off now, and he makes his way across the room, reaches for the gleaming silver. It’s small and round and cool in his hands, like the orbs they used for practice and play in the creche.

The man is tired and sore, filled with guilt and relief and doubt. But when Grogu reaches for the ball, he merely sighs and lets it drop into his hands.

He is not sure what the man is, caretaker or friend or something else. But he feels like safety and warmth, and he carried Grogu away from the darkness. It is enough.


End file.
